Lies and Apologies
by JohnlockedTARDIS
Summary: "It's been eight and a half hours, Sherlock, where are you?" Sherlock has been absent from the house for a while, and John gets worried. SH/JW. Rated T for swear words.


John glanced at the clock as _Never Mind the Buzzcocks _blared from the television, fingers drumming uneasily at a random rhythm. It had been eight and a half hours since Sherlock had left the flat. He had said that he was going to Tesco's to pick up some cyanide (when John asked, he had merely said that he didn't want to wait forever again to only find out that John would come home with an irritated disposition from arguing with inanimate objects and no groceries).

He supposed that Sherlock could've been off to solve a case from Lestrade, but Sherlock almost always wanted him along on a case, the only exceptions being when he went out of the country and when John was too tired or sick to go. Even if all Sherlock did was insult him if he was asked to come, it was still gave John a strange sense of smugness as he realized that he was wanted.

John shook his head. _Stop it. You know it'll never happen. _He thought some more. Sherlock could've been taken by Mycroft for something, John mused. But then again, he thought with a smile, knowing Sherlock, Mycroft wouldn't be able to keep him for long. His amused demeanour faded quickly as he realized he should just be even more worried.

After watching the clock for a few more minutes, he pulled out his phone and sent out a text to the missing consulting detective.

Hey, you alright? Been out an awfully long while. JW

He reread his text to make sure there weren't any misspellings or anything (he knew that Sherlock would bother him endlessly about it if there was), smiling a little when he looked at the JW at the end. He never used to do that; he must have picked it up from Sherlock with their many adventures. John waited almost five minutes before he got a reply.

Yes, I'm fine. How long? SH

John rolled his eyes, half with relief, half with exasperation. Of course. It was so very like Sherlock to forget the time and then scare him half to death with it.

Eight and a half hours. What the hell have you been doing? JW

Just at Tesco's. SH

John raised his eyebrow sceptically. For eight and a half hours? Really? It was one of the most suspiciously pathetic answers that he had ever heard from Sherlock.

You're lying. JW

I didn't think you would fall for that. SH

John's lips were set in a thin line. If Sherlock was lying to him, _badly, _then something bad must be going on.

Sherlock. What's going on? JW

I can't tell you, John. SH

Sherlock, I thought we were friends. JW

We are. SH

That settles it then. Friends tell each other when something's wrong. Something is wrong, we're friends. Now talk. JW

It was another five minutes before John got another text.

You have to promise me you're not going to judge me, John. SH

John's eyes widened as he thought of what Sherlock could be talking about. His heart started to thrum faster and faster, his mind racing _….Could it be?_

Of course not, Sherlock. JW

He anxiously waited his reply, actually rocking back in forth slightly in his chair with excitement.

I started again, John. SH

John felt his heart drop like a cherry pit, falling in the deep depths in a hole in his stomach. _Oh. _He re-read Sherlock's text again, realizing what Sherlock's text meant after reading it a few times.

You were doing so well, Sherlock. JW

From a bar in London, Sherlock sighed heavily, running his hand through his dark curls. He could practically see John's disappointed expression.

I really haven't. SH

What? JW

I've been hiding it….I've been on it for three months now. SH

John felt a pang in his chest as he realized that Sherlock's eyes have been slightly bloodshot lately, that there had been a different energy in his eyes….Sherlock had been destroying himself for three months, and he, his best friend, didn't even notice.

Sherlock, where are you? I'm going to pick you up. JW

Sherlock looked around and blinked, dazed. He had taken too much this time. He squinted at the bright pink neon sign that adorned the pub window. _Barlow's? Harlow's? _Sherlock giggled. What a silly place, he thought, a bar named after a loud species of monkey.

Barlow's, I think. SH

John sighed.

Wait, I'll come pick you up. And then we're going to talk. JW

Sherlock pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed to the bartender. "Keep the change," he said blurrily, stumbling outside and on the sidewalk. He leaned against a streetlamp, swinging around it slowly.

I'll be here. SH

John looked anxiously out the windows, scanning the streets to make sure Sherlock hadn't wandered away from the bar.

"Mate, you alright?" The cabbie glanced at John, looking at him from the rear-view mirror. John shook his head, starting when the cabbie addressed him. "Wha – oh, yes, yes, I'm fine, thanks," he muttered. The cabbie shrugged and turned back to the front. "Alright, then."

Finally, after what seemed like hours to John, he finally spotted the tall consulting detective leaning against the front wall of the bar. He quickly slipped a five out of his pocket and handed it to the cabbie. "Wait here for a moment, please."

He all but leapt out of the cab, rushing over to Sherlock and taking his lanky frame in his army-trained arms, almost startled with how light the man was. This, of course, made him feel even guiltier. "It's alright, let's go home, yeah?" Sherlock nodded, giggling, before laying his head on John's shoulder, nuzzling into it.

John dragged him to the cab, stopping by the door and picking him up bridal style so it would be easier to get him in. "Now people are definitely going to talk," he said, noticing but ignoring the stares that the others on the street were giving them. One even hooted and said, "You go, man!"

"Back to Baker Street, please. 221B." The cabbie nodded and drove, having turned off the radio as he had watched the two come back towards his cab. He had had a feeling that they would want to talk. Or silence. Apparently, he noticed, they were going to be silent. Huh. Can you spell awkward?

Sherlock looked over at John, coming off of the rush so he was able to focus his senses. He shook his head experimentally like a wet dog, wincing when he was met with a sharp, stabbing pain. Once he was through rubbing his sore head, he looked over at John.

John's lips were set in a thin line, and his eyes were full of worry, disappointment, and….was that hurt? Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but one sideways look from John silenced him. The rest of the ride was spent with John looking straight ahead and Sherlock looking ashamedly out the window.

When the cab stopped, both men got out, still consumed in a weary silence. They walked upstairs, careful to watch where they stepped so they wouldn't wake Mrs. Hudson. John went in first, sitting his chair opposite Sherlock's. He silently motioned for Sherlock to sit down. "How long, again?" John said quietly as Sherlock got positioned.

Sherlock looked at John for a moment before replying in a flat monotone. "Three months."

"Why wouldn't you let me help you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned his head slightly and closed his eyes. "Because I didn't want help, John. I wanted the drugs. Simple as that." John's expression quickly turned to one of anger, almost shaking with fury. He breathed out slowly, shaking his head and laughing slightly in a hysterical manner. "Sherlock, you can't...okay. You cannot do this; you can't waste yourself away just because you're goddamn bored!"

Sherlock lost all the feelings of being ashamed and felt his anger flare up."And exactly why not, John? What's going to happen? I told you, it doesn't matter _unless it has to do with the work._" John's eyebrows rose incredulously. "Do you honestly think I'm going to let you do this?"

"Oh, like you can stop me."

"Try me," John said menacingly.

They stared at each other for a moment, both faces stubbornly set and unwilling to back down. Finally, Sherlock sighed slightly, shaking his head wearily. "You're right," he said quietly. "...I'm sorry." John's tensed shoulders relaxed slightly as he heard this, walking towards the kitchen. "I'll make us a cuppa, alright? Just relax, and then we can sit down for a moment and talk about it." Sherlock nodded. "I'll be right back." _I just need one more. Only one more. Then I'm done._

But John, looking back at Sherlock, noticed his long fingers move involuntarily closer to his coat pocket. If he squinted, he could just make out the outline of a small bag...

"No, Sherlock." John said, his voice calm but firm. "Stay here." Sherlock turned around, and knew that John knew instantly by the look on his face. "Only one more, John," Sherlock promised. "Please, just one more."

John shook his head, setting the kettle down on the stove. "No, Sherlock. That's what happens. You say you'll take one more, but then you'll only be wanting more later. No." Sherlock tried to run towards his bedroom, but John had seen it coming; he had dashed around the small table and grabbed Sherlock's arm in a strong vice-like grip. "It's over now, Sherlock." The taller man tried in a vain attempt to pull his arm away before giving up and glaring at John.

"Let. Me. Go."

"No."

"John Hamish Watson, you let me go this second or I swear –"

"What, Sherlock? What are you going to do?" John felt his stomach start to boil again. Sherlock just glared at him more. "Let me go, NOW."

John pulled Sherlock's arm closer to him so their faces were only a few inches apart. "Sherlock Holmes, you listen to me, and you listen well. You are my best friend, and you will _not _spend your life doing drugs when you get bored! The more and more you do it, the more chance there is that you'll die sooner than you need to, and you are not going to die unless it's from old age or I kill you first. Do you understand me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave another vicious tug, making them farther apart. "John, I don't care, and neither should you. In fact, I can't even process why you care at all, best friend or not! This is _my _life, and _I _decide what I'm going to do with it, no matter how much you care."

John's eyes widened, his mind now clouded with unspoken rage. "You don't...you don't understand why...oh, my God." John closed his eyes, laughing maniacally again and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "I _care _because you are the best thing that's happened to me since the war, Sherlock. I _care _because you are the one thing that keeps me going, that actually makes my life worth a fucking damn. I _care _because even though you won't even begin to understand, and sure as hell won't give a fuck, I'm fucking in love with you, Sherlock! _That's _why!"

John hadn't realized he was yelling until he finished, and his eyes widened as he saw Sherlock's expression of shock and confusion. _I just told him that I loved him. _John blinked twice, before shaking his head and dropping Sherlock's arm, walking briskly out of the flat and out into the street, not caring where he was going.

Sherlock stood in the flat, getting over the general shock of John's statement before remembering he was no longer in the room. He ran out of the flat after John, slamming the door behind him. He walked quickly to the left of 221B, scanning the area with a quick eye before he spotted the ex-army doctor walking dazed a few blocks over. "John," he muttered, starting to run towards his flatmate, taking no notice of the angry drivers honking their horns at him for running in front of their cars.

"John! JOHN!" Sherlock yelled, waving towards John as he ran. John stood there with a tired, defeated expression on his face. "What, Sherlock?" he said quietly.

Sherlock put his hands on John's shoulders and forced the man to look him in the eye. "What was that?" John gave a small shrug, shaking his head. "Would've thought that a genius like you could've figured that one out."

"Explain it again."

John looked at Sherlock with a hurt expression. "If you really just came here to embarrass me even more –"

"John, do you love me?"

He looked affronted at being cut off, but it was quickly replaced by embarrassment and shame again. "Yes." Sherlock stared at him before taking John's hand and pulling him towards the flat. "Come along John, we're going home." John reluctantly followed, his eyebrows now furrowed with confusion. "What?"

"I said, we're going home."

John tilted his head, stopping in place and causing Sherlock to jerk back. "So...So you aren't going to kick me out?" Sherlock smiled a little. "Why would I do that?'

"Because I said that I loved you and you said that you're married to my work."

Sherlock started to chuckle. "What?" John said, with a little anger and defensiveness.

"Have you ever stopped to think, John, that you have become a massively important part of my work?" John stared at Sherlock before realizing what he was saying. "But –"

"But why did I never tell you? Because I was quite convinced of the fact that you were straight, considering how many girlfriends you seem to bring home and how many times I've heard you say 'We're not a couple' when questioned." John blushed. "Well, we weren't," he said defensively, although he was smiling a bit now as well. "So, do, um, do you...you know, uh.."

"Love you back?"

John nodded shyly, holding his breath.

Sherlock smiled and leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss to John's lips before starting to pull him back to the flat again. "Always."

'


End file.
